


misdirection

by nightwideopen



Category: Marvel
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Bingo, Blood and Violence, Bucky Barnes Bingo 2019, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, One Shot, POV Alternating, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2020-01-05 01:38:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18355955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightwideopen/pseuds/nightwideopen
Summary: Clint hates running.





	misdirection

**Author's Note:**

> I really didn't expect this square to grab my attention, mostly because I really don't write explicit sex and definitely didn't for this but... here we are!
> 
> **Square filled: Mission sex**

“Where’d you get those pants?” Clint shouts over the sound of gunshots. “They fit you really well!”

Bucky turns his head only for half a second, but it’s long enough for Clint to see the annoyed look on his face. Perfect. He’s been on Clint’s nerves all day. They’re running for their lives through a rusty, old, sulfur smelling HYDRA base when they could be _fighting_. Clint Barton doesn’t run; running isn’t part of his training. They’re snipers for god’s sake, they don’t run. Besides, Bucky knows better than anyone that these goons are trained for shit. There’s probably something in the air making him dumber than usual.

(Not that he’s dumb. Clint doesn’t really believe that. He’s actually one of the smartest people Clint knows.)

“Would you hurry up?” he snaps back at Clint.

“Sorry that we’re not all super-soldiers!”

Bucky runs backwards for a moment to fire two shots past Clint’s head. A body thumps to the ground behind him, followed by more shots. They’re really outnumbered here, it’s a miracle Clint hasn’t been shot in the back. He hates this, he hates this so much, he hates _running_ –

“For god’s sake–”

Bucky charges at Clint with a determined look on his face that Clint hates almost as much as he hates running. He’s seen that very same look right before receiving a concussion on no less than three occasions. Almost eighty years hopped on super serum and the guy still doesn’t know his own strength. 

This time, though, it’s his stomach that receives most of the blow.

Which is worse.

He _just_ ate.

Clint finds himself in Bucky’s arms as he runs, in perfect position to fire off a few arrows over Bucky’s head. Three guys go crumbling down, but three more appear just as quickly. Goddamn Nazi cockroaches. That should be their logo instead of the infamous tentacle thingy that Clint still can’t identify as an octopus or a squid.

“We have to hide!”

Clint feels them turn a sharp corner and then another and then they’re miraculously out of sight, out of range. 

And in a storage closet.

Bucky dumps Clint onto the floor so that he promptly falls onto his ass.

“Seriously?”

Bucky just shrugs. Clint can barely see him in what little light that’s filtering through the crack in the wooden door. 

Footsteps go stomping past, and Clint flinches for the faintest moment before they fade out down the hall. 

“Okay,” Bucky sighs. “That should buy us some time. Let’s go.”

“What? Go? Are you crazy?” Clint doesn’t even bother standing up. “Get down here. We’re gonna let them find us, and then ambush them.”

Bucky just stares down at Clint like he’s grown an arm out of his forehead. 

“You’re joking, right? They’ll pick us off like fish in a barrel in here. We have to go.”

He’s right, but Clint isn’t going to tell him so.

Clint laughs. “You’re lucky you’re cute. Come on, sit.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, but sits anyway.

“Fine,” he relents. “What’s your brilliant plan?”

“Um.”

He hadn’t thought that far.

Bucky watches him expectedly as he counts his arrows, does some math on his fingers, surveys the small space around them. This goes on for several minutes, and Bucky has started to tap his fingers against the gun in his hand. He eventually takes to mentally counting his own ammo and trying to remember how many footsteps he’d heard go past the door. If he closes one eye, he can see through the crack in the door that’s letting light in. 

Clint humming with an air of finality brings him back from his thoughts. 

“What,” he deadpans, unamused. This idiot is going to get them both killed. 

“Take your shirt off.”

“What–?”

But Clint has already started removing his own. He hushes Bucky aggressively. 

“You hear that?”

Bucky does. Footsteps coming back their way. Those Stark hearing aids must really be something.

“Shit. What are you–”

Clint hushes him again. “Just do what I say. And when they open the door, _don’t hesitate_.” He pulls a gun from Bucky’s waistband that he shouldn’t have known was there and presses it meaningfully into Bucky’s free hand. “Head shots only. I trust you.”

Since when did this guy get to know Bucky so well?

Bucky shuts his mouth and nods. He doesn’t stop Clint from pulling his shirt over his head, and doesn’t say anything while Clint messes with his hair. Clint’s head is turned away from him, listening intently as the footsteps come barreling closer. When he’s finished with Bucky, he starts fixing himself up, and right as Bucky is about to open his mouth to say that they’re close, Clint puts a finger to his lips. 

Then he tilts his head back, closes his eyes, and lets loose the most exaggeratedly pornographic moan that Bucky has heard in real life since 1942.

_Why,_ Bucky spares a moment to think to himself. _Why me?_

The footsteps stop, just a few meters from the door. The two of them peer through the crack in the door, can see the idiots trying to decipher where the sound came from. So Clint does it again, then throws his body on top of Bucky’s just as the door swings open. 

And Bucky, well, Bucky hesitates. You can’t blame a guy for getting distracted when he’s got six feet of blonde, shirtless abs draped across his body and moaning in his ear. It’s not his fault. 

It’s Clint’s fault.

For being tall and sexual in the middle of a mission.

Luckily, his shortcoming is inconsequential, but the HYDRA morons who stop to gape at the scene before them each get a bullet between the eyes. Because Bucky, like Clint, never misses. There’s six of them, and they all drop to the ground in the threshold. When it’s quiet, Clint pulls back, grinning stupidly. 

“See?” he says. “You’re not as dumb as you look.”

Bucky reholsters his guns. “You’re a fucking idiot and I hate you. We coulda _ran_.”

Clint shrugs. 

“Making you blush was more fun.”

“I wasn’t blushing, Barton,” he growls as he gets up. “And if you tell anyone that I was you’re gonna regret it.”

Clint pulls his shirt back on. “Why? Don’t want anything thinking you like me?”

Bucky rolls his eyes, doesn’t justify that with a response. He gets dressed, turns his phone back on, and tries to avoid stepping in blood on his way out of the supply closet. 

He lets Clint pilot the quinjet on their way back to the compound, resigning to the boredom of being a passenger just to keep Clint busy and quiet. When he’s flying is the only time he shuts his mouth.

The relief is short lived. 

Clint starts talking the moment they step foot on the lawn grass.

“So–” 

“No.” Bucky doesn’t want to hear it. “We’re pretending this day didn’t happen.”

“No, wait, hey.”

Clint steps between Bucky and the front door, making their chests collide. Clint catches Bucky’s forehead with his chin for his troubles.

“Ow.”

“Your fault.”

“Fair.” Then his voice turns serious. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. It was the only thing I could think of. I won’t do it again. Or, we don’t have to go on missions together. I’ll tell Steve–”

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable.”

“Huh?”

“I wasn’t uncomfortable. Actually, I, uh… was the opposite.” Bucky clears his throat. “Of uncomfortable.”

And man, Clint was just messing around before, but this time Bucky actually does turn bright red. Famed ladies man and infamous assassin Bucky-Barnes-slash-the-Winter-Soldier is standing in front of Clint Barton, disaster extraordinaire, and _blushing_.

Clint is honored.

He grins.

“That’s real swell, I’d say.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, still not quite back to his normal color yet. “Okay, don’t make it a thing.”

“I think you want it to be a thing.”

“I don’t want it to be a thing.”

“You’re the one making it a thing.”

“ _You_ made it a thing!”

“I did not–”

Clint doesn’t get to finished his half formed retort because Bucky is pulling him in by the front of his Kevlar and kissing him rather harshly. 

It’s awesome.

Clint tells Bucky as much.

“I hate you,” Bucky says, but he’s smiling. “Think you can finish what you started?”

They both know that Clint never backs down from a challenge. Clint appreciates the fact that Bucky knows to use his competitive streak against him.

He intends to return the favor.

“You betcha.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is my [Twitter](https://twitter.com/616clint).  
> This is my [Tumblr](https://nightwideopen.tumblr.com).  
> And here is a [shareable post](https://nightwideopen.tumblr.com/post/183953970334) for this fic.  
> Comments and kudos are beyond appreciated. Thank you for reading!


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